


Freedom

by julien (julie)



Category: due South
Genre: Afterlife, M/M, Stew's Patented Happy Endings Unlimited, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1996-07-13
Updated: 1996-07-13
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Fraser believes he will never pay the full price of taking revenge for Ray’s murder, and neither should he.





	Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This was a sequel to a friend’s story, which was a strongly written tragedy - and I quite rightly copped some flak for immediately ‘fixing things’, even in what I felt was a fairly remorseless way. But the story has remained in my heart all these years, and I wanted to share it regardless. 
> 
> **Warnings:** While this piece has a happy ending, it is certainly a 'major character death' story and includes a suicide. 
> 
> **First published:** 13 July 1996 in my zine Pure Maple Syrup 2

# Freedom 

♦

Benton Fraser knew what he’d done. Premeditated murder, cold and cruel. He walked back to his father’s cabin, carrying the burden of Michael Sorrento’s corpse.

Sergeant Buck Frobisher was still there, having finally sensed that something was awry. Fraser asked Buck to arrest him, and he handed over the murder weapon. When the matter came before the court, Fraser pleaded guilty, and refused to discuss any extenuating circumstances. Lieutenant Harding Welsh had come all that way to be a character witness, to explain something of who Sorrento was, of what the murdered Detectives Ray Vecchio and Louis Gardino had meant to Fraser. Welsh wanted to ask for clemency, and he was heard despite Fraser’s clearly stated wishes.

Fraser was sentenced to twenty-five years, and served twenty. He didn’t actively seek parole, but he was a model prisoner, and they insisted on releasing him early due to his good behaviour. On the day he was sent away from the jail, people talked to him of a fresh start, a new beginning. Of the fact that he was still fit and healthy, that he was in the prime of his maturity. Well, Fraser finally felt free, but it wasn’t for the reasons that anyone else thought.

Since Ray Vecchio died, Fraser had lived for two things. The first was getting even, for Ray’s sake, and the second was then paying the price of getting even, working through his debt to society. Fraser had done those things now, and he was free to do something for himself, something he’d wanted to do all along, though before now it would have been taking the easy way out.

After making a purchase, and wanting privacy, Fraser paid for an overnight stay in a shabby room in a boarding house. He locked the door and he sat on the bed and he unwrapped his new hunting knife.

And he prayed, for one of the rare times in his adult life. He prayed that, after this, there would be nothing. No pain, no grief, no guilt, no torment – even no numbness, no endurance. He prayed that there would be nothing, or maybe that he would find his way to Ray’s heaven.

Benton Fraser tucked the knife-tip up under his breastbone, and he recalled a clear memory of Ray – the man talking with him, laughing, leaning in to kiss him, making Fraser’s dull Chicago apartment bright – rather than the slim figure being consumed by a blaze of flames. And with all his might, Fraser pushed the blade home.

♦

‘…and the highway just goes on forever. There are long straight stretches where I can put my foot down and see just how fast the Riv will go – I hardly ever got to do that in Chicago – and then there are plenty of places where it’s all hills and curves, and I can push the handling to the limit. This is one beautiful car, corners like a dream, powers up any climb. The speed limits here are the same, but the cops don’t ticket other cops, which is as it should be of course, and _that_ means I can really floor the Riv and overtake all the civilians. Meanwhile, you would not believe the mileage I get per gallon. It’s great.’

The green interior of the Buick Riviera, and Ray sitting there in his green suede Armani jacket, driving with one hand on the wheel and expounding with the other. Fraser gazed at the man.

‘Almost every time you turn the radio on there’s a basketball match being broadcast, with commentators who actually know how to commentate. And every now and then there’s a diner along the road, a real old-fashioned one tucked away where you don’t quite expect it. A place with good service and really good food, like they have someone like Ma out there in the kitchen cooking real food, none of this processed junk everyone was getting so fond of.’

Diefenbaker sitting up tall in the back seat, watching through the windshield with those golden eyes, though glancing askance at Fraser every now and then.

‘The country here is beautiful. All kinds of country, every type there ever was. I mostly don’t have the words for it, I don’t know what it all is. You know, I can recognise a mountain when I see one, and a valley and a lake, but what on earth is an escarpment or a mesa? And I saw something the other day, a meadow I guess, all long grasses and red flowers and blue flowers under a Spring kind of sky –’ Ray stole a sidelong glance at Fraser – ‘and frankly I thought of you, and rolling around in it in the sunshine with you, and if the Armani gets grass-stains I just don’t really care anymore.’

Fraser was sitting huddled in the passenger seat. He looked down at his own clothes, and discovered he was in his dress reds. That wasn’t right. ‘…Ray?’

‘Yeah, Benny.’ Still looking ahead through the windshield, though using the softest of voices.

‘Why am I wearing the uniform?’

‘Because you’re a Mountie, Benny.’ Another sidelong glance, and perhaps Ray saw how distraught Fraser felt about this, for he repeated, firmly and gently, ‘You’re a Mountie.’

‘No,’ Fraser whispered.

They drove on in silence for a while. Fraser received a vague impression of trees and the clearest of blue skies and perhaps mountains in the distance, but he couldn’t really see them because he was in danger of weeping for the first time since Ray had died.

‘What you did,’ Ray eventually said, and his tone was pensive now. ‘What you did for me, how you got even –’

_Don’t thank me_, Fraser silently begged.

‘I forgive you, Benny, all right? I forgive you.’

The threat of tears became the reality of sobs, and they would not be stopped. Ray pulled the Riviera off the road, and parked it, and handed Fraser a large white handkerchief. They sat there for a while, and Ray let Dief out to run around, and Fraser slowly worked his way through all the pent-up sorrow, and Ray just waited for him, oh-so-patient.

Eventually Fraser said, ‘I don’t want to wear the uniform, Ray.’

‘Oh.’ Ray nodded. ‘Well, that’s OK, I’ve got a bag in the boot there, with your civvies and stuff. Those worn old jeans of yours, and a flannel shirt and that grandpa shirt. I guess I always liked you best in blue.’

‘I’d appreciate that, Ray.’

But the man didn’t make a move to fetch the clothes. He was casting an indiscriminate frown around. At last he said, ‘Just so long as you know that you can wear the uniform if you want to. All right? You’re entitled to it, if you want.’

‘Thank you, Ray,’ Fraser said. ‘But I don’t want it.’

‘You don’t disgrace it, you know. You’re a good man, and a good cop.’

Fraser let out a sigh, and then he offered his friend the truth. ‘I suppose I just want to be me, Ray. I’ve been a constable and I’ve been a criminal for a long while, and I suppose I just want to be Benton Fraser now.’

‘Really?’ Ray was looking at him directly for the first time, and the man was grinning fit to burst. ‘That’s great, Benny, that’s really great. We can do that here, you’re getting the hang of it already. You see, we were cops, right, and that was important to us, but we did our time and we can just _be_ here. We can just be us.’

‘Ah.’ Fraser nodded, and wiped the last of the dampness from his cheeks. ‘Where exactly is _here_, Ray?’

‘Where do you reckon?’

Fraser took a breath and asked the silliest question of his life. Or death. ‘Is this heaven?’

‘No, it’s Iowa!’ Ray cried out. ‘Did you ever see _Field of Dreams_? I’ve been wanting to say that, like, since forever. Well, of _course_ it’s heaven, you great idiot.’ He chuckled. ‘Now, come on, let’s get you your clothes.’

They had parked in a grassy area just off the road, tucked away down near a stream amidst burgeoning trees. It was a delightful place, and it seemed that even Ray Vecchio the city-boy liked it. There was no sign of anyone else around, but Fraser felt terribly shy about getting undressed out in the open. Despite Ray’s reassurances, he ended up in the Riviera’s back seat.

Keeping his back turned like the gentleman he truly was, Ray began talking again. ‘You know, you really don’t have to worry. There’s no one around unless you want there to be. Surprised the heck out of me, I like being pretty much on my own now. I guess I had enough of being in the thick of things back there.’

Catching a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, Fraser was bemused by the reflection of the smooth-faced man he’d been two decades ago when he was Ray’s lover. It seemed that the careworn years had been sloughed away.

Ray was silent for a moment, but then continued, ‘I hope you won’t be too bashful, Benny, because there are motels when you want them, good ones with nice big comfortable beds and crisp clean sheets. But then there are places like this, and you can just hop in the back seat there, or roll around together in the grass and the sunshine, and no one is going to bother you about it. It’s as private as you want it to be.’

‘And you know this _how_ exactly?’ Fraser asked.

Ray laughed. ‘Don’t be getting jealous.’

‘I wasn’t. I was merely asking for information.’ But Fraser was not believed.

‘There hasn’t been anyone else, Benny,’ Ray said, talking in that low tone he used when he was sharing a heartfelt truth. ‘There could have been, and one of them I think you would have even understood, but we just talked. She and I talked for what seemed like years, and we were always friends, and anyway she’s in her own heaven. I’ve been waiting for you, Benny. I’ve been waiting, and I’ve been thinking about how it will be.’

Fraser got out of the car, dressed casually now, and he stood there near Ray. They weren’t quite looking at each other. ‘And you were thinking about making love with me,’ Fraser prompted, ‘in the grass and the sunshine.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I was.’

‘In a little while,’ Fraser whispered, ‘I think that would be very nice.’

‘In a while, sure,’ Ray agreed easily. ‘We have all the time we’ll ever need here, we don’t have to rush anything anymore, and we don’t have to worry about anyone but us.’

‘Then it must be heaven,’ Fraser said. And he reached out a hand to his friend. Ray took it in his, and they simply stood there holding hands in the peace and the quiet, letting the sunlight bless them with forgiveness.

Eventually Benton Fraser slowly gathered Ray Vecchio into his arms. And then he drew the man back, so that Ray’s weight rested against him, and they were both propped against the side of the Riviera. The reality, the solidity of the embrace finally convinced him.

‘Yes, this is heaven,’ Fraser murmured. And almost before he’d finished the words, Ray’s mouth found his, and they kissed.

♦


End file.
